


oh, i’m a bomb regardless.

by cereal



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cereal/pseuds/cereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s when Billie had found him, also in black, also with tits that weren’t for him. (circa the Much Ado run)</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, i’m a bomb regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, good god, I don't even know. Circa Much Ado, and because Billie Piper hadn't announced her second pregnancy when most of this was written, it's not compliant with that. Title from Wilco's "nothingsevergonnastandinmyway(again)," which is one of those songs that comes on and then you're suddenly applying it to a pairing that Tumblr continues to remind you should always be making out, non-stop, forever.

He was doing fine -- great, even -- until the play's press night.   
  
There was that little (TARDIS-shaped) box in his head where he kept all his memories of Doctor Who and it hadn't been easy, shoving Billie in there, too, and throwing the doors closed.   
  
Especially because  _nothing_  stayed in there. The way Georgia was linked with the show, the way Peter was. Fuck, the way even now, he wouldn't be here, doing this play with Catherine, without it.   
  
The way there was always little bits of it clinging to him, like so much void stuff and the way he couldn't even think of a different metaphor.  
  
So trying to keep Billie and her wide smile and her chipped nail polish and her stupid, bloody  _tongue_  in there was never going to last.   
  
And when she'd shown up, and he'd known she was going to be there, had read the e-mail where she'd teased him about the Fright Night promotions and his abs and  _in this adaption Benedick does the whole thing topless, yeah?_ , the doors swung wide and out she tumbled.   
  
He'd even forgotten to avoid being photographed with Georgia, he was so preoccupied not being photographed with Billie.   
  
(Not staring at Billie, not trying to read that damn new tattoo, another one that made it clear she wasn't available for -- whatever it was he wanted her to be available for.)   
  
Instead he'd just focused on Georgia's tits, how much bigger they'd gotten, how she'd worn black and a neckline that definitely didn't plunge to try and downplay them.   
  
When they'd gotten  _too_  big halfway through the party and she'd had to step away and pump, he remembered that they weren't for him, not right now, at least.   
  
And that's when Billie had found him, also in black, also with tits that weren't for him.   
  
"Where's the missus, then? Or the future missus?" Her hair was up and all he wanted to do in that moment was take it down and watch her shake it out, remembering the way she'd ruffled the sand from her hair after wrapping at the beach, grains sticking to her swollen mouth as they scattered down.  
  
(He found sand in the trousers he'd worn to set that day for  _months_.)  
  
"She's, uh," he gestured vaguely at his chest, "full."  
  
"Yeah, gotta stay on top of that," and she grinned at him. "I sprung a leak in the middle of Harrods once. Ruined a perfectly good afternoon and a Marc Jacobs jumper," she paused. "It's worth it though."  
  
"It's brilliant -- a little mobile Tesco's, and free." He rose up on his toes a couple times for lack of anywhere else to put all the energy he suddenly had.   
  
Billie's tongue snaked out to the side of her mouth and he desperately wanted to hear whatever it was she going to say that made her do that.   
  
"Did you taste it?" Her teeth glinted in the flashing lights of the party and it took him a second to catch up with what she was talking about, and then he was only horrified.   
  
"What? No! Did Lau-- did he taste yours?"  
  
"Yeah, bit of a dare, actually. Said it tasted like toast."  
  
Of all the things he thought he'd talk about with Billie when they inevitably crashed back into each other, what breast milk tasted like was definitely not top of the charts.   
  
"I'll probably skip it, not much daring going on around my house."  
  
"Ah, David Tennant and his refined soy-milk-only palate."  
  
"Read that interview then, did you? Anyway, that stuff's delicious. And it definitely doesn't taste like toast."  
  
"You'd love it, nutter like you."  
  
He wanted to talk about something else, something that wasn't such a vivid reminder that they had so very separate lives, with other people, and  _tiny_  people.  
  
"How'd that nutter do tonight, you think? Was it good?"  
  
"It was excellent, you two always had such great chemistry. It looks like you're having a ball up there," Billie waved at someone over his shoulder and he felt a snap of jealously. There was a time when they were always the only two people in any room, no matter how crowded.  
  
"You wanna have a go with me next? Mischievous thing like you, bet you'd be a brilliant Puck."  
  
"But then I'd miss out on all the stage kissing," she was still looking half-distractedly over his shoulder, which was just as well, because normally she'd say something like that with a wink and he was already holding on to his drink far too tightly.  
  
When she refocused on him, it was because the person she'd been waving at had walked up to join them.   
  
Catherine nudged into him with her shoulder, before gushing over Billie's dress. By the time they'd come back around to anything he'd even remotely want to talk about, Georgia was back and Billie was slipping away for another drink.   
  
&&.   
  
It wasn't right, he knew, using his daughter as a reason to ring Billie.   
  
He had loads of friends that had been through the baby thing, hell, even Georgia had been there before.   
  
Only -- Billie, she seemed like the kind of parent he was, or wanted to be. Plus, Georgia was out for the night, placing the baby into his arms with a, "Just -- you. You have her for a bit," and she'd looked so exhausted and had even arranged for Ty to stay at Peter's, that he knew she needed the break. Calling with a question wouldn't be fair.   
  
He was just trying to be fair.  
  
Billie answered on the third ring and he didn't even allow himself a proper greeting, went right in to, "How long is too long for hiccups?"  
  
She'd laughed, that light, lilting, David-you're-ridiculous laugh and had talked him down from calling the pediatrician.   
  
And then he'd said, "Wait, let me put the headset in," and he'd picked up Olive and walked around the house, Billie's voice in his ear, until his daughter was well asleep and he'd put her down in her cot and they just kept talking.   
  
Right until he heard Georgia's car pulling up.  
  
"Hey, Bills, thanks so much for the help. Maybe we should have a -- what's it -- a play date? I mean, she doesn't do much yet, not like yours, but possibly she'll make a face, or roll over. Or get the hiccups."  
  
&&.  
  
It really was his intention to have the kids there. A squirming little note to himself that he was happy and things were good in his life and "the one that got away" was just a cliche lonely people tortured themselves with. And he wasn't lonely, not really.   
  
But then Georgia had gotten the baby ready that morning and announced they were leaving for a girls' day with her mum and "David, I told you last week, don't you remember?"   
  
And of course,  _now_  he'd remembered, that was also the conversation where she'd shown him the centerpieces for the wedding first and he'd set to mentally running lines almost immediately.   
  
He'd called Biliie and she hadn't seemed to mind, saying she'd just leave Winston with Laurence and then all of the sudden they were having a play date without the people meant to be doing the playing.  
  
So, just sort of a date then.   
  
It was just as well, he'd leaned over to give Olive a kiss as they left and she'd broken into a gorgeous smile, the kind that makes his heart swell and flip over and right there in the middle of it was her little baby tongue, right between her lips and her one lonely tooth.   
  
And he's had that dream before, a little blonde-haired baby tottering across the flat and when he'd woken up, he'd tried to clear his conscience with the thought that Georgia had blonde hair, too. Or Sophia. Or anyone -- oh, he does have a type, doesn't he? But he knew what the dream had intended, and it was just as well Olive's hair was so dark.  
  
&&.  
  
As it turns out, kids were going to a part of his day with Billie whether they were their own or not.   
  
They'd settled in for a late lunch at some dark, old pub, the kind of place that really ought to not even let children in, but there they were, a whole pack of them -- and two wrung out-looking parents -- at the next table over.  
  
He tried to pretend he didn't notice the little girl staring. Had listened attentively to Billie's story about trying to buy a new car and scripts she'd read and the way the neck of her shirt scooped low enough that he could see her collar bone. Well, she wasn't  _talking_  about that, it was just an important part of the conversation to him anyway.   
  
But by the time they'd decided to order another round, it was getting increasingly hard to ignore. He caught Billie's eye and gestured with his head to where the girl sat, perched on the edge of her seat, facing away from her table and toward theirs. Billie winked at him, tongue between her teeth, and his entire lunch hit his stomach like a weight.   
  
Billie turned to the girl, who couldn't have been much older than 10, and she would've been so little when their series were airing, how did she even know them? He sized up the parents, trying to decide if they were the type to buy the DVDs, or maybe just catch the reruns, when Billie said, "Right, Doctor?"  
  
He must've tuned out, lost in thought, but he responded anyway.  
  
"What was that? I'm sorry, I missed it."  
  
He realized only after the words were out of his mouth that she'd called him, 'Doctor' and he'd responded without hesitation. Would've probably even called her Rose, if the sentence had needed it.   
  
Billie gave him a weird look, but said, "Megan here wanted to know where the TARDIS was, I said we'd parked it out front, but she may not have noticed it with the perception filters."  
  
"Oh yes, right, it's out front," he blustered through the sentence trying to decide if she were too old to actually think they  _were_  the Doctor and Rose.   
  
"I'll look for it on my way out," the little girl, ginger, he noted, continued to stare at them.   
  
David glanced up at the parents, hoping they'd realize and pull her attention away, but they were busy wrangling a toddler with chocolate smeared on his face back into his chair.   
  
"Well, is there something we can do for you -- Megan, was it?" As he said it, he glanced down to the table, looking for something to sign maybe.  
  
"Kiss."  
  
He heard Billie's foot hit the floor, she must've had her legs crossed.   
  
"What?" He'd been trying to work on maintaining proper manners at all times, something he wanted to be sure Olive had, but that was quickly forgotten in the face of a romantic 10-year-old.   
  
"You know,  _snog_ ," the girl said, lowering her voice like she wasn't meant to be talking about stuff like this.   
  
He looked to Billie for help, torn between immediately agreeing, scanning for paparazzi, and begging off in the service of, oh, propriety. But Billie wasn't having any of it, gesturing out with her palm up to give him the floor.   
  
"Why would we do that?" If his voice was higher it was only because of all the singing he'd been doing lately, must've done something to his throat.  
  
"Because you're  _in love_ ," the look she gave him implied he was being awfully stupid about this, but she continued on. "And you only had that one kiss, and only one of the Doctors even got a kiss. Wait, which one are you?"  
  
So many things to address, from just a handful of words from a kid. He thought about pointing out that they'd kissed in New Earth, but then what if she wouldn't count that either, on account of Cassandra?   
  
And which Doctor was he? Rose was meant to be with the part-human Doctor, so it'd make sense for him to be that one, but they'd mentioned having the TARDIS and the part-human one didn't have one of those, unless Russell's deleted scene was factored in, and what were the odds that, first, she'd seen that bit and, second, that the new TARDIS would take the shape of a blue police box?  
  
He was a proper disaster is what he was.   
  
"I'm, um, well, I'm just the Doctor."  
  
That wasn't really an answer, but it appeared to have sorted it for Megan. Where were her bloody parents? Oh, perfect, on the other side of the pub, pumping coins into an arcade game for yet another child.   
  
The girl nodded, "OK, kiss."  
  
"Oh, I'd say that's up to Rose, wouldn't you?" There was a bit of cheek in his voice that he hadn't intended, but he'd done enough in this conversation, it was Billie's turn to handle it. And if the way she decided to handle it was to just give in and kiss him, well, it was out of his hands.   
  
Billie gave him a surprised smile, eyebrows arching upward.   
  
"All right, if we're  _in love_ , we ought to, right?" And she fixed her smile into something warmer as she turned back to Megan.   
  
The table between them was just large enough that he couldn't lean over, couldn't make it seem like a casual thing and go right back to his rapidly-cooling chips. Not that he wanted to. What we wanted, desperately and suddenly, was to haul Billie over the table toward him and set to snogging so furiously that Megan's parents would never again let her alone to pester strangers.   
  
Instead he felt his cheeks go warm as he scooted his chair out and stood up just enough that he'd be able to meet Billie halfway.   
  
The look she gave him before she leaned in was a devastating mixture of coy and mysterious and he braced his hands on the tabletop in response.   
  
The kiss was a short thing, just a light touch, her bottom lip between the two of his, but it was long enough for David to consciously not open his mouth further, deliberately not snake his tongue out to touch her lips, because he couldn't be sure that he hadn't spotted any paparazzi. And Georgia. And Laurence.   
  
(The trip to sitting back down in his chair was long enough for him to wish that he would have just done it anyway.)  
  
The girl nodded again, looking appeased, and turned back to her table as if nothing had happened, leaving David to the thundering of blood in his ears and the way Billie's lips were somehow, inexplicably, wet. Had he done that?  
  
Billie snagged a chip from his plate, apparently less affected, because, to him, the thought of putting anything in his mouth right now that  _wasn't_  Billie's tongue was abhorrent.   
  
He clenched and unclenched a fist beneath the table, pulling himself together, "Time was I got paid for doing that, you know."  
  
Billie stole another chip, like this wasn't the most awkward situation he'd been in in the last six months, "Oh, apologies, I didn't realize you required the promise of compensation to stomach kissing me." Her tone was teasing and David was relieved to see this wouldn't make the rest of their meal awkward.   
  
Well, more awkward than the way his entire body was covered in hot pinpricks, and all the organs in his chest seemed to be rearranging themselves, sliding about in a pool of guilt.  
  
"Oh no, it's not that, just -- why buy the cow then, if you could get the milk for free?"  
  
"I'm going to let that  _awful_  sentence slide and instead tell you about a time I was out with Chris and a boy demanded he sonic something, only he didn't have his sonic, obviously, so he'd had to make do with a pencil. He even made the noise with his mouth."  
  
And that was it, enough to get them through the rest of the meal -- stories about the things fans have asked of them and what they did in response.  
  
He did not mention that this lunch was his new favorite entry in that category.   
  
&&.  
  
There was no reason to ask her over. Georgia could be home for all he knew.  
  
But he did it anyway.  
  
Billie was perched on his couch, legs tucked up underneath her, running a hand over the fabric and Georgia was not, in fact, home.   
  
"This isn't new, is it?"  
  
And it wasn't new, she'd sat on that couch before, when it was in his old flat, when things were different. When the way they were currently inching closer and closer to each other, so that by now their thighs touched, would've been just some questionable, but ultimately harmless, behavior.   
  
"No, moved it when I bought this place."  
  
A cooking show was on the telly, but he wouldn't have been paying any more attention to it if it had been his own face flickering across the screen. Not like he could've heard it anyway, not when Billie's jeans shifting against his echoed like fireworks through the room.   
  
He thought about getting up, jumping up even, forcing some enthusiasm into a situation that was more warm, slow intimacy than was proper for anyone with a girlfriend and a conscience. Maybe he'd give her a tour of the house, show her the nursery and really just hammer into his skull what a right bastard he was being.  
  
As it was, a picture of he and Georgia -- from the Doctor Who set, even -- loomed over him from the fireplace mantle.   
  
If anything, that makes him want it,  _this_ , more. Because he remembers that day, remembers the familiar feeling of trying not to bring romance into work (again, again, again) and failing, because it was just too good, the stolen glances and furtive looks, the giddiness. And it was Billie that had set that precedent, created that feeling he was constantly chasing.   
  
And it's such a thin, flimsy thing, bringing it back around to the pub and  _compensation_  as a way to push things the tiniest bit farther.  
  
"So, about that compensation. You should know -- my fee's a bit higher now and my agent is ruthless."  
  
Billie grinned and untucked her legs, knocking knees with him in the process and, when she settled, bringing even more of their bodies into contact, "What's the least you'd be willing to accept? There's not a huge budget on this project."  
  
"Oh, I don't know, gig like this, might actually work for free, depending." He was getting brave, close enough now to smell the spicy-sweetness of her perfume, and her lotion, and her shampoo, the way they combined to make an envelope of  _Billie_.  
  
"Depending on?" Her voice had dropped, he would swear it.  
  
"Perks," he cleared his throat. "You know, perks, like catering or getting to pick my costar."  
  
The air around them feels warm and still, like windows in a library, and he knows right then that this is going to go too far.   
  
"Catering? All right, I'll bring you a beverage, Mr. Tennant," she gives him a cheeky grin. Like he'd ever make anyone call him 'Mr. Tennant.'   
  
"Where's the good stuff?" Billie's shifting off the couch, leaving him to lean into the space she vacated, chasing after something.   
  
"Not much here, actually. Seemed rude to taunt Geor -- a pregnant woman. I think there's some whiskey though, maybe."  
  
He pushes himself off the couch and follows her to the kitchen, watching her open cupboards and doors like she belongs there. He thinks about telling her where the bottle is, but decides against it, preferring to give himself a few extra moments for his more --  _domestic_  fantasies.   
  
She makes a triumphant noise when she finally finds it and then scrutinizes the label on the bottle, "Oh, this  _is_  the good stuff! Just how much more is your fee these days?" Smirk, smirk, smirk.   
  
"Just for that, you won't be getting the good glasses." Instead, he rummages around in a cupboard and comes back with two dingy superhero mugs. "Spider-Man or Batman?"  
  
"Batman, of course." She looks at him like she knows right what he's going to do with that, and he never liked to disappoint to her. He pours some of the whiskey into each glass, handing her the Batman mug.  
  
"Why 'of course?' This is about Christian Bale, isn't it?"  
  
"No, this is about men versus boys."  
  
"Spider-Man's not a boy! It's right there in his name, Spider.  _Man_."  
  
"Whinging Man is more like it. Always on about his uncle and all that angst over Mary Jane." She's purposefully baiting him now and he lets himself go with it, back to the living room and the couch, where he collapses next to her with a careful arm thrown across the back of the cushions.   
  
It can only take them so far, a conversation like this, and once he's provided a few examples of all the ways Batman is just as whiny, if not more so than Spider-Man (and really, Billie Piper is the only person in the world that could provoke him into denigrating Batman), he's left with the whiskey and the sound of Billie's breathing.   
  
He's not sure why today is the day, why he keeps nudging things a tiny bit more at every turn, poking at them like he wants an explosion, but it's just. Fuck. It's really good to see her again, really good to just be with her, without cameras or significant others or all the reasons he can't think of now that kept this from him before.   
  
"You know, catering usually lasts a whole shoot," he nudges into her and settles down there, feels the pressure as she leans into him, too. Enough of it that he's not imagining it and enough of it that he can feel the vibration of her voice when she answers him.  
  
"Yeah? I'm still full from lunch, what else can the studio offer you, to get you to sign on?"  
  
The way she says it, the low, quiet tone, he's sure she'd give him anything he asked for, but he wants  _her_  to ask for it. She's the one that went and made hers legal, after all.   
  
"Oh, I don't know. Tell me about my costar. That's just as important as the project, as I'm sure you know." He gives her a wink, even though it feels like he's laying it on a bit thick.   
  
Billie makes a soft hum and scratches light circles over the material covering his thigh. He thinks about how thin the trousers for the Doctor were, how he wishes he were wearing them now.   
  
"She's a nice girl, decent rack. A bit mental.  _Blonde_."  
  
"Hm, I've had good luck with blondes," and he winces, hoping she knows he meant her.  
  
He doesn't want to leave his position, settled up against her, but it feels more important to be looking at her full on, than sitting at her side with his neck craned. He backs up and angles his body to face hers, licking his lips as she mirrors him, but keeps her hand on his leg as he opens his mouth to speak again.   
  
"What's she like on the job? Is she a risk-taker? Can't be afraid to really get in there and mix it up in the heart of a scene." There's not usually so many layers to their conversations, he's having trouble navigating it all.   
  
Billie looks him in the eye, biting her lip like she's thinking over how to respond, and maybe he's not the only one having trouble navigating.   
  
She gives a tiny nod, "She can be. For the right risks." And her fingers curl just the slightest bit into his leg.  
  
He knows that's it, that's her asking, but he wants it to be more. He leans into her, close enough that he can feel the soft puffs of her breath on the tip of his nose.   
  
"What about when things get intense? I need someone who'll work with me, not against me." His voice comes out like a rumble, all slow and deep, and he spares a glance at his cup on the table to confirm, no, that wasn't the whiskey, that was him. Her drink sits untouched next to his.   
  
"She's good with intense. Not so great with taking the lead, though. Don't want to make anybody uncomfortable, of course." And there it is, she matches his lean, bringing them close enough that if he  _were_  on a set, he'd have made sure to have a mint prior.   
  
For all the apparent murkiness before, he understood that sentence clearly and covers her hand on his leg with his own, "Oh, of course. Don't want to take things too far."  
  
And he's practically speaking right into her lips, but it has to be her, it has to be. Not so he can place blame, but because he couldn't stomach it if she regrets this later.   
  
"So," she says, and he almost crosses his eyes trying to track the slow way she blinks before speaking again. "You're in then?"  
  
He nudges her nose with his own, tilting their heads, "I'm in."  
  
If he had to, really had to, he couldn't swear it that she moved first, but it was so, so close and then their lips are touching, and he's kissing her. Not the Doctor kissing Rose, not another on-call performance like this afternoon, just David and Billie, kissing.  _Finally_.  
  
He parts his lips to pull at her bottom lip, angling his head further and moving a hand to cup her face, fingers curling into her hair. Her hand on his thigh unclenches and slides up so she can brace herself as she leans into the kiss.   
  
They pull back and come together a few times, short kisses that could almost be chaste except for the way they're clutching at each other, the warm, furious breaths they're pulling in on each retreat.   
  
When they come back together moments later, he opens his mouth, his tongue snaking out to meet hers, and he spares a thought to how suited they are, that they both moved deeper into it at the same time.   
  
He tugs at the shirt covering her hip with the hand not twined in her hair and she moves to loop both arms around his neck, pulling him into her and back to the couch cushions.   
  
It's such a uniquely thespian problem to have a first kiss with someone you've already kissed, but they sync up quickly. Her tongue slides against his, hot and wet and  _Billie_  before she pulls back to nip at his lip. He mimics the action, good at nothing if not taking cues, and she makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat.   
  
It's an awkward tangle of limbs and then it's one of his legs situated between hers on the couch, the other still on the floor as he reclines them fully. Her hands wind up into his hair, scratching and pulling at random. He moves the hand on her hip, slides it slowly up the fabric of her shirt to cup one of her breasts. She breaks the kiss to bury her face in his neck, making a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan.   
  
He'd like to believe they get a pass, where they exist outside of this being wrong, of this hurting anyone, simply because what's there between them is  _right_ , even if the variables never were. It's a bit soppy and that religious guilt he was raised with is gnawing on his ribs from the inside out, an acidic warm burn that he forces lower, until it's mingling with the heat pooling in his groin and somehow it's even better.   
  
She nuzzles into him, licking, sucking, biting, as he finds that what he really wants is hampered by her clothing. He's moving his hand, prepared to slide up under her shirt, when she pulls back from his neck suddenly, a wet sound like suction breaking in her wake.  
  
Leaning back further into the couch so she can see his face she tells him, "You smell good," her tongue coming out at the very edge of her mouth.  
  
He looks down at her, already so tousled and he feels the shift of her hips as she arches up into him. "Yeah? You smell  _awful_." And he buries his teasing grin against her lips.   
  
She slaps at the back of his head and he can tell, just from those few seconds, that they're going to come out of this all right.   
  
They don't undress quite so much as they get things out of the way as they become a problem. Her shirt hiked up to her chin, followed by her unhooked bra, as he moves to kiss her chest. His fly undone and trousers to his knees, before he realizes he'll have to stand to get hers off anyway. He decides to take her pants with them, and steps out of his trousers and boxers before settling back down on top of her.   
  
She pulls frantically at his shirt with one hand, cupping his length between them with the other. He leans his upper body back to shuck off his shirt, pushing himself into her hand as her fingers curl around him. The air leaves his lungs in a loud exhalation and the noise she matches him with is pleased and breathy.   
  
Her legs are so smooth rubbing against his and he pumps into her fist a few times before pulling back to slide his own hand between them. He arches up enough to work his fingers between legs and he's met with enough wetness that he can't resist slipping a finger in deeper, giving a quick rub with his thumb before she's nudging his hand away and lining him up with the hand still wrapped around him.   
  
He forces himself to move slowly, dropping a foot back to the ground for leverage as she spreads her legs even wider and he begins to slides in. They talk so much normally, before, constant, easy conversations about the most trivial things, that the near-silence here is all the more reverent.   
  
It's broken when he's all way in and begins to pull back, "Fuck, oh,  _fuck_ ," she hisses, and Billie Piper's got a mouth on her in the bedroom, he's practically gleeful to learn.   
  
The low groan that escapes from his lips is swallowed by the skin of her neck and as he begins to move in earnest, her legs move to wrap up around his. She's clutching at his back, his hair, his arse, and he slides his arms underneath her, pulling her forward and cupping her shoulders for leverage.   
  
He manages a steady rhythm of push and pull for a few moments, sucking hard on the join between Billie's neck and shoulder as she bucks up into him. As he begins to falter, moving with abandon, he feels her clench around him and she nips at his ear before letting out a string of obscenities and filth and endearments that send him tumbling behind her, slightly quieter but no less sincere.   
  
She tightens her legs around his hips, keeping him from slipping out, "Just -- stay. Stay there for a second."   
  
He can feel her trying to get her breathing under control and he ducks his head to nip wetly at the base of her neck, smiling as she shudders and arches into him reflexively.   
  
When she finally releases her hold on him, he stands, ruffling at the hair at the back of his neck and taking in the picture of Billie Piper, rumpled and mostly naked on his couch.   
  
She smiles up at him, wide and awake and perfect, and the words are out of his mouth before he can think of anything else.   
  
"Put me down for the sequel, as well."  
  
&&. 


End file.
